


no gown of gauze, no ringlet to my hair

by Anonymous



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Family, Fluff, References to Abuse, very mild references but tagging to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 20:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21482683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: As a wedding approaches, Elia Martell knows peace. After everything, she's happy.
Relationships: Doran Martell & Elia Martell, Elia Martell & Oberyn Martell, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40
Collections: Anonymous





	no gown of gauze, no ringlet to my hair

**Author's Note:**

> This contains brief references to past abuse. It's vague and long over at the time this story takes place, but please be mindful.

“Sorry I’m late,” Oberyn said, giving his sister a half hug, kissing her cheek, and settling into his chair in a single smooth motion. “I got caught up with something.”

“Oh?” Elia teased, raising her eyebrows. “Caught up in the oh so strenuous work of being a fake doctor?”

“Fake doctor?” Oberyn demanded. “If you recall, I only went into research to begin with because I –”

He cut himself off. “Actually, this isn’t important right now.”

“It isn’t?” Elia’s smile died and her brow furrowed as she cast a concerned look at her brother with the shrewd dark eyes they shared. “I’ve never known you to say that, and we’ve been having this argument since you first abandoned med school. What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing,” Oberyn said, and he smiled at her. “I just thought you might want to be the first to know. I was speaking with Ellaria, and we decided that it might be…time for us to get married at last.”

Elia yelped, clapping her hands over her mouth, eyes going wide. “Really?”

Oberyn’s grin widened as he nodded.

“What changed your mind?” she demanded. “You’ve been together for fifteen years!”

Oberyn shrugged. “We were never opposed to it. We just never got around to it. But the older girls are all out of the house, we’ve been travelling less, we may be considered married already under common law…”

“When are you thinking about having the wedding?”

Oberyn blinked. “Wedding? We thought we would go sign the papers, then throw a party with lots of wine. Or immediately leave for a weekend in Braavos. Why make a fuss?”

“Nonono, Oberyn. No. As your older sister, I insist that we celebrate this, Ellaria is as much ours as yours, and –”

Oberyn stifled a laugh. Elia stopped and narrowed her eyes. “Are you making fun of me?”

Oberyn’s own eyes crinkled. He admitted, “Just a little.”

“So…there is going to be a wedding? And a party?” she checked.

“Elia, darling, when have I ever said no to a party?”

“That time you skipped your graduation to go climb the Red Mountains!” she snapped. “Not this time! There will be a wedding and a party and I’m going to plan both and you are _not _going to run off because you got distracted by something shiny before we can celebrate.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Elia, you have two children and a full time job.”

“Oberyn,” Elia said. “Oberyn, look at me. I’m your favourite sister. If you don’t let me plan this wedding, I’ll never forgive you. I’ll call all your utilities companies and have your title switched to mister. I’ll tell Doran about how you were the one that gave Arianne that idea on how to stage that city council coup in the Westerlands.”

He held his hands up in defeat. “Fine, fine. Who am I to stop a grown woman that wants to throw me a party?”

Elia clapped her hands together in delight and snagged Oberyn’s phone to start setting up alerts. “Yes!”

“Wait, no, I’ve made a terrible mistake,” Oberyn drawled, eyes gleaming, and he stole a drink from her mug. She jabbed him under the table with her foot and kept on working.

“Too late to retract,” she said cheerily. “I promise it’ll be perfect.”

* * *

“Aegon, Rhaenys, what do you think Uncle Oberyn should wear to his wedding?”

“Black and red?” Rhaenys suggested and cracked up at Oberyn’s expression of exaggerated horror.

“Roses?” Aegon added slyly. It was Elia’s turn to look disgusted.

“Seven hells, Aegon! I know you’re joking, but don’t. There will be no roses at this wedding! There will be jasmine and hibiscuses or there will be nothing!”

“Mom’s turning into a tyrant,” Rhaenys stage whispered to her uncle.

Oberyn grinned and whispered back, “She always has been.”

Elia jabbed a finger at him. “I mean it, Oberyn! I know you’re not nearly committed enough to roses to actually want to wear any, don’t you dare do it just to be annoying!”

“Annoying,” Oberyn echoed. “Me? Rhaenys, you don’t think I’m annoying, do you?”

Rhaenys giggled, high and sweet and the traitorous laugh of a girl that had always adored her uncle. Elia made a face at them.

“There, there,” Ellaria said, patting her on the back. “He’ll behave, I promise.”

“Hey, Ellaria, do I get a plus one?” Rhaenys asked.

“You can even have two,” Ellaria said, ignoring Aegon’s frantic headshaking. Rhaenys whooped.

“Yes! I knew you were my favourite.”

Elia narrowed her eyes at her son. “What are you shaking your head for?”

“She wants to invite Robb Stark!”

“So? Since when do you have a problem with Robb Stark?”

“I don’t, but I’m pretty sure this is her way of making a point to Jon, and I want no involvement in it!”

Ellaria made a face. “_What _point?”

“That she doesn’t like him and everyone in his life adores her. Shouldn’t it be enough that she’s Dad’s favourite without dragging the poor guy’s cousin into it?”

“Hmmph,” Rhaenys sniffed. “I happen to _like _Robb Stark, thank you very much. That it might remind Jon how much everyone loves me is just a bonus.”

Aegon rolled his eyes. “Ellaria, please retract the offer of a second invite, she’ll probably start hitting on his girlfriend next.”

“Hey, if I get a second, I’m inviting Tommen and telling him to bring his cats. Then you’ll be sorry. Who doesn’t like cats?”

“_Anyway,_” Elia said loudly, “this is supposed to be time to catch up and decide Ellaria’s hair. If you’re not going to make yourself useful here...”

“I,” Oberyn said haughtily, “was going to pick Doran up from physical therapy anyway. I’m sure _he’ll_ appreciate my presence.”

He departed before Elia had the chance to say anything, with the same effortless grace and casual elegance he did everything. Elia arched an eyebrow at her children. “What about you two?”

Rhaenys answered for them both with a firm shake of her head.

“Absolutely not,” she said, and for the briefest of seconds, her smile was soft and crooked and all Rhaegar. Then the smile widened and the moment passed and Elia shook herself out of the past. “We wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

* * *

She had intended to spend the afternoon just with Ellaria, deciding on the details of her hair, but this was better. This was so much better.

Several of her nieces had wandered in after Oberyn’s departure, Arianne tugging her fiancé along with her. Now Rhaenys lay sprawled across the floor, propped up on her elbows, in front of the couch made for three on which Aegon, Arianne, Daemon, and Tyene had squeezed together. Sarella sat cross-legged next to her, and Nym and Obara took up the other two armchairs. Arianne, bless her, had brought three bottles of wine, and Ellaria was pouring.

“Thanks,” Elia said, accepting a glass and taking a quick sip before setting it on the ground, gesturing for Ellaria to sit down in front of her. “Come on, over here.”

Ellaria obeyed. Elia started to braid jasmine blossoms into her hair and asked, “How’s everything at the university?”

To Elia’s surprise, Ellaria – sweet, reasonable Ellaria, who’d spent over a decade as a calming influence on Oberyn! – scoffed. “If that bitter crone Olenna doesn’t shut her mouth, I may be forced to point out that it is _surprising _she knows so little about actual historical fact when she’s _old enough to have been present through all of it._”

Elia giggled. “If you do, make sure to get a picture of her face. The damn Tyrells are nearly as bad as the Lannisters.”

Ellaria turned her head to look at her and frowned. “I think Oberyn invited Tyrion to the wedding. Do you want me to tell him he can’t come?”

“Oh, no, Tyrion’s not so bad. In fact, he’s helpful to have around – if he’s somewhere, it usually means Tywin’s not.” Despite her best efforts, Elia’s nose scrunched in the same way it always did when she thought about her hospital’s chief of medicine. “God, do you think we could get them to start on each other instead of the rest of us? Olenna and Tywin?”

“If only,” Ellaria said dreamily, leaning back against Elia’s legs. “If only.”

Elia finished with the last of the blossoms and frowned. “Hmm. I think it’s missing something.”

She snapped her fingers at her son, then gestured to the potted plants near the front door. “Aegon, go get me one of the yellow hibiscuses!”

He grumbled, but obeyed. The second he left his seat, Tyene slid over to claim the vacated space. Aegon returned quickly, dropping the flower into Elia’s waiting hand, then sitting on the floor next to his sister and cousin. Elia pinned the blossom in place.

“Ha!” she said, pleased, and sat back to admire her own handiwork. “Take a look and tell me if you like it.”

Ellaria glanced in the mirror and smiled, touching her hair as she turned her head to admire the effect. “Oh, it’s lovely! Some day, you’re going to have to teach me how you do that.”

“Surgeon’s hands,” Elia said with a satisfied smirk. “They come in handy sometimes.”

She slid out of the chair to join Ellaria on the floor and picked up her glass to take a long drink. Arianne leaned forward, Daemon’s hand clasped in hers, eyes alight as she started to share a story about her newest case and the shift from smugness to terror on her client’s landlord’s face as the first trial progressed. Elia had to smile – her niece really was just like her father.

It was a good story, complete with expansive gestures, and Elia let Arianne’s voice, cut through with interjections from the others, wash over her until the front door swung open and Oberyn and Doran sailed in, the former pushing the latter in his wheelchair. “We’re back!”

Elia got to her feet and hugged her older brother while Oberyn moved to greet his daughters, Arianne, and Daemon before running his fingers along Ellaria’s braided hair and gesturing for Nymeria to sit back down when she tried to offer him her chair.

“So who’s on the list?” Arianne asked, once they’d all settled back in. Elia had to think about it for a second.

“The Gargalens, Tyrion Lannister, Willas Tyrell, the Daynes, Ellaria’s family, Dacey and Alysanne Mormont, the Blackmonts, the Wyls, Sam Tarley…Robb Stark’s apparently coming as a plus one…Shireen, Myrcella, and Tommen Baratheon for some reason…various people from the university that I don’t know personally…and probably some I’m forgetting.”

“Oh, add Tywin and Olenna.” Oberyn said, and before Elia could even begin to look horrified, he added, “I know we all hate them both, but they also loathe each other, and that amuses me.”

Elia sighed. “Fine, but if either Ellaria or I punch one of them and end up fired and charged with assault, I’m blaming you.”

“In your case, I will wear that blame as a badge of honour. ’Tis my duty as a brother to guide you away from your poor career choices.”

Elia set down her glass and fixed him with a withering look. “You know damn well which of our professions is the superior one.”

“Research!” Oberyn said loudly.

“_Practice_!” Elia countered, even louder.

Doran rolled his eyes. “Not this again. Aren’t you tired of this yet?”

“Not until our lunkhead brother here admits how many people only enter his field because they couldn’t cut it in mine.”

“Mine is more challenging!”

“Oh, yeah? You try operating on a fetus when you’re still having trouble standing after months recovering from giving birth!”

“Research is proactive instead of reactive and helps more people at a time!”

“No amount of research will ever eliminate the need for surgeons!”

Ellaria sighed a long suffering sigh and cast a look over at Doran. “How do they always end up back to this?”

Elia ignored her to make a face at Tyene, whose hands were occupied with knitting needles, clacking together rapidly. “All that dexterity, and you went into _pharmacology. _Unbelievable.”

Tyene flashed a pout as she set down her knitting, then smiled sweetly instead. “Oh, but Auntie, surely you’ve noticed that in this scenario, you’re the jock and Father is the nerd. Surely we need both in the world.”

“Bah,” Elia said. “No one likes the voice of reason.”

Sarella laughed. Oberyn and Elia took the opportunity to pounce.

“Sarella, dear, you would love to do research, wouldn’t you?”

“Sarella, darling, you know what kind of people go into academia when they could be a _real doctor_?”

“Um…Ellaria?” Sarella suggested. Elia scoffed.

“No! People like my hippie ex-husband! Do you want to be like Rhaegar, studying nonsense like the impact of music on plant growth? He’s not even a good harpist!”

“Ooooh,” Rhaenys said. “This might actually be the harshest thing you’ve ever said about him!”

Elia took a deep breath and smiled beatifically. “Rhaegar is not a bad man. He is just so caught up in his own head that he forgets that _actions_ have _consequences_ and there are more important things in the world than whatever he’s fixated on at a time.”

“And she ruined it,” Aegon said, leaning back and rolling his eyes at his sister. Rhaenys grinned. Sarella just blinked.

“Are you saying Dad is like Rhaegar?”

“Sarella!” Oberyn complained. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“I am _saying,_” Elia said, “that people that go into research are usually deeply impractical people that opt to go through a ridiculously time consuming process to come up with solutions through trial, error, and dumb luck rather than learning anything that _requires skill._”

Daemon coughed from Arianne’s side. “Should I be offended, too?”

Arianne leaned up to peck his cheek. “No, you should be mocked for choosing a career path that takes forever and results in you spending your nights grading _papers _instead of going out with _me._”

Oberyn shook his head in mock sadness. “Daemon, Daemon. It’s as if I’ve taught you nothing. You must always make time for your lady love.”

“You’re my thesis advisor, not my life coach,” Daemon said, rolling his eyes. “I’m pretty sure you’re the reason I don’t have time for her.”

“I am your lover’s uncle, am I not? Surely that gives some weight to my opinions on your relationship?”

Sarella wrinkled her nose. “Please never say the word lover in front of me again.”

Obara and Nymeria nodded fervently in agreement, and Obara drained her wine glass with a shudder. Sarella cleared her throat, drawing all attention back to her. “Actually, I know what I’m going to do now.”

Rhaenys and Aegon cheered, and Ellaria smiled encouragingly. “Don’t keep us in suspense!”

“Anthropology,” Sarella said, and her own smile was a flash of even teeth, startling white against her dark skin. “Biological. I got my approval from the Citadel yesterday.”

“Ha!” Oberyn said, sticking his tongue out at Elia. “_Research. _Closer to me.”

“_Ha,_” Ellaria cut in. “Closer still to me.”

Oberyn’s eyes widened. Ellaria smirked, then refilled his wine glass, then Elia’s. “Drink, love.”

“A toast,” Elia said, raising her glass. “First of all – to Sarella. I’m so glad you’ve found what you want to do. You’re one of the smartest, most capable people I know, and I can’t wait to read every paper you write. Second of all, to Oberyn and Ellaria. Oberyn, you’ve been my best friend my whole life, and Ellaria, you’ve been family for years. You always will be. I love you both _so _much. This wedding won’t represent any commitment the two of you haven’t made a long time ago…but it’ll be a damn good party, I promise. You two are worth celebrating.”

Arianne wiped surreptitiously at her eyes and tried for a light tone. It didn’t fool anyone for a second – Arianne was always an emotional drunk. “Aunt Elia! It’s too early for so much sentimentality!”

Elia laughed. “I promise that’s it. We can now go back to day drinking.”

Oberyn bumped her shoulder with his own. Ellaria squeezed her hand. And so they stayed.

* * *

Even all these years later, she still found her heartrate picking up a bit in crowds. So she hung back, watching a very tall blonde woman she didn’t recognize blushing furiously as Nymeria leaned up to whisper something in her ear, and remained hovering around the periphery of the party until a loud voice called her name.

“Elia Martell!”

She started, turning to see Tyrion Lannister striding towards her. She barely had time to think about how his voice seemed far too big for someone so small before he was talking again. “The only person in the world my father seems to hate more than he hates me! Which is strange, because very few people hate you and you seem like just the kind of person he’d praise, seeing as your life choices are just the sort of thing one would think he’d approve of.”

Elia rolled her eyes fondly. “You know, you were much more likeable before you learned to talk.”

Tyrion scoffed. “Surely, I’m more likeable than the rest of my family.”

“Hmm,” Elia said. She tapped her lips. “Cersei’s at least entertaining…and Jaime’s not bad in small quantities…and Lancel’s like a puppy! So eager to please! So you’re fourth at best.”

Tyrion brought his hands to cover his heart. “That _hurts, _Dr. Martell.”

She winked at him. “Sorry, _Mister _Lannister.”

That was probably too mean. But he’d known her for a long time, and his odd friendship with Oberyn meant that he was well aware of her and her brother’s field rivalry. So instead of taking it personally – as he tended to take most things – Tyrion just laughed.

“I always thought you were such a nice woman,” he said, shaking his head and grinning. “Now I know you’re so much more interesting than that.”

“Oh, interesting, am I?”

“Oh, very. Smart enough for talking to you to not be intolerable, yet mean enough that I won’t feel bad when I win a bigger budget share.”

“Ha, ha,” Elia drawled. “Have I mentioned ha?”

Tyrion bowed mockingly, then, catching a glimpse of someone across the room, hurried off to join them, leaving Elia by herself again. That seemed to be happening more and more lately – her children were growing up. Her friends were busy with their own jobs and families. Finding people whose company she enjoyed had never seemed more difficult. The last person she’d shared a bed with had been Tyrion’s elder brother, just a few times several months ago because they’d both been there and lonely and liked each other well enough. It had been convenient, pleasant…and not worth the effort to continue. Now she was lonely again.

She cast her eyes around the room in search for someone – anyone – to dance with. Her eyes instead landed on where Oberyn was talking to her hospital’s head of administration. His face was so bewildered that Elia had to cover her mouth to refrain from laughing.

Stannis Baratheon was grinding his teeth again. Had she invited him? Why had she done that, if it wasn’t to chaperone Shireen? Couldn’t have possibly been Oberyn, Oberyn would never invite Stannis anywhere. Didn’t matter. Doran and Oberyn had always been caught up with a need to protect her, but now it was _her _duty as a sister to go rescue the groom. She strode over and touched her colleague’s elbow.

“Dance with me,” she told him, and tugged him onto the floor before he could say anything. She winked exaggeratedly at Oberyn over Stannis’s shoulder, then returned her attention to the man directly in front of her.

Stannis was a competent dancer – he could never be accused of clumsiness, and his movements were precise, if a little stilted. His hand remained exactly where it had begun against her back, textbook perfect, and he seemed even more rigid than usual, as if he was a little uncomfortable with the steps or having her so close, but determined to do it right anyway.

_Oh_. Now she remembered why she’d invited him.

Stannis was abrasive at the best of times, but he was also profoundly unthreatening. Shorter than his elder brother, less handsome and outgoing than either brother, he often blended into the background as much as it was possible for anyone so large and, indeed, exasperating to do. She got along better with him than most people, largely because of the strictness with which he enforced rules against sexual harassment, and even she could only take so much of him, but even so, she would never not appreciate how _safe_ he felt.

The word _gentle _would never describe Stannis Baratheon, but Elia knew in her bones he wasn’t going to hurt her.

Someone safe to dance with; someone with an understated sense of humour, a strong sense of ethics, a dry wit, and an authoritative aura; someone moderately pleasant to look at that disliked large crowds as much as she. Stannis was a solid, reliable presence, and she rather liked having him around.

Oberyn and Ellaria twirled around the dance floor, graceful as always, and Elia had to suppress a giggle at the thought of Stannis practicing proper dance form in preparation to come – there was nothing he hated more than someone laughing at him. She said, “So how’s Shireen doing? My brother’s younger ones were so disappointed she couldn’t make it.”

“Well enough,” Stannis said stiffly. “She’s…competing in the state cyvasse tournament next month.”

“Oh!” Elia exclaimed. “I love cyvasse.”

She swallowed the urge to tell him to wish her luck – Stannis didn’t believe in luck – and added, “Give me a call if she wants some more practice. Playing with someone new is always helpful.”

Stannis looked startled. She smiled at him, and to her surprise, he smiled back. It was an unexpectedly pleasant expression.

As they started to discuss the hospital and surgical success rates, Stannis relaxed even more. His face looked no less severe than usual, now that the smile had faded, but Elia’s hand was still around his shoulder as they danced, and she could feel the lessened tension in the muscle. Her own muscles were often tight with that same tension.

She was no fonder of unknown environments than Stannis. Definitely just as uncomfortable around most people. Certainly, she got along better with her bolder brother than Stannis did with his, but part of her still wondered if she shouldn’t be more adventurous. Oberyn, Ellaria, her nieces, even her own children – they all took chances, tried new things, anything to make the most out of life.

Elia didn’t even like doing that in bed.

She was a couple years older than Rhaegar, several older than Jaime, and had borne two children – she was hardly a blushing virgin. But she liked it gentle. Liked it soft and sweet. Liked the way Jaime’s hands had always been careful against her body, the low timbre of his voice asking what she wanted. Or how, before that, towards the end of her marriage, Rhaegar had sometimes held her and whispered soothing nothings into her ear until she fell asleep, and it had been the closest she’d felt to him since before Rhaenys was born.

Other women she knew would be aggravated by being treated like they were made of glass, especially other chronically ill women. But even long before there had been unwanted hands bruising her and a brute tearing at her clothes, when she’d just been irritated by people looking at her pityingly, she had preferred to be handled carefully. Physically, at least. Emotionally…well. It had been a long time since she’d been the wide-eyed eleven year old, watching Doran and Mellario’s whirlwind courtship and elopement, or even as much of a romantic as she’d been when she’d met Rhaegar and grown infatuated just by looking into those purple eyes, gleaming with intelligence, and listening to the intensity with which he discussed his research.

Nowadays, she rather thought what she wanted was stability. Rhaenys was off at university, Aegon would be soon, and Elia was still working long hours that left her entire body tired and aching and returning every night to a house that was empty more often than not. She was usually too tired to go anywhere or meet anyone. She liked the idea of going home to someone dependable.

And she _must _be lonely, because Stannis’s large hand against her back, practically spanning the width of her waist, was warm and steady and it took a concerted effort to not lean back into it. Or maybe that wasn’t so strange – for all his faults, Stannis was honest. He was intelligent. He was far more reliable than Rhaegar ever was, and in the long years they’d worked together, Elia had learned that he was the kind of person that could be talked into anything with a decent explanation as to how that anything was beneficial to the greater good.

Elia rather suspected she could enjoy having him around.

The song ended. Stannis let go of her. She smiled at him again.

“I should go check on my younger nieces,” she said. “And I can tell you’ve been wanting to go home since you got here. I’ll make your excuses.”

She patted his arm as she walked past him and added, “Give me a call sometime. You know, if you want to lose a game of cyvasse.”

* * *

She leaned against Doran’s shoulder and closed her eyes, tired, but content. She was closer to Oberyn, really. She always had been – Doran was older, after all, and, for all that she was often like him in temperament, their interests had run in different directions all their lives. She and Oberyn, though, they had been inseparable. But when she’d staggered to her feet one horrible night in high school, terrified and bleeding and bits of someone else’s skin lodged under her nails, it had been Doran to whom she’d run. And Doran had done what he’d always done and still always did – he’d made her feel safe again. He had reacted not with hot rage, but calm reassurances and a promise that he’d take care of it, and take care of it he had.

Oberyn had been there for her in all the aftermath, a fiercely protective shadow and a constantly comforting presence, just as always, but it had been Doran who’d dealt with Gregor, somehow – _somehow – _ensuring he was expelled and prosecuted and away from her forever.

She was a grown woman now, half a lifetime away from high school, and Doran was as unassuming as ever, without something upon which to focus all his anger and intensity, but he was still her big brother and sitting next to him still made her feel just as safe and loved as it had so many years ago. Gods, her family was wonderful.

“Can you believe he’s _married_?” she asked. She could hear the smile in Doran’s voice when he replied, “He’s been as good as for years, has he not?”

“Long enough that they outlasted both of _our _marriages,” she agreed with a happy little sigh. “Lucky bastard.”

Doran chuckled and rested his own head on top of hers. “That he is.”

“We’re pretty lucky, too, aren’t we,” she added. Doran didn’t answer with words, but he wrapped his arm around her and squeezed her briefly, and that was as much an agreement as anything could ever be. She was halfway to sleep against him when Ellaria’s ringing voice made her jerk bolt upright.

“Doran!” Ellaria sang, as she and Oberyn approached together, practically glowing with happiness. “Come dance with me.”

Doran smiled indulgently and wheeled after her. Oberyn grabbed Elia’s hand and helped her to her feet. “You, too, Elia.”

They returned to the dance floor, Elia shaking the sleep out of her eyes, and she rested her head against her younger brother’s shoulder as the song shifted to something slow and sweet. “I’m happy for you, you know that?”

“I do,” he replied, and his arms tightened around her. “This is…thank you, Elia. This was lovely.”

“Anything for my favourite sibling,” she said. Oberyn’s eyes crinkled and she added quickly, “And she’s _officially _my sibling, now!”

He pretended to look offended. Elia giggled, then grew serious. “Seriously, Oberyn. You know I love you, right?”

“I do,” Oberyn said again. “I love you, too.”

They fell into silence for a while. It was ultimately Oberyn that broke it – “You’re not going to make me spend time with Stannis Baratheon, are you?”

“Depends,” Elia said. “Are you going to admit my field is better than yours?”

Oberyn scoffed. “Never. But I will admit that _you_ are the best.”

She smiled a little. “I’ll take it. You’re not as much of a loser as your field would have one think.”

They danced until the song shifted once more and Ellaria claimed her husband back as Elia found herself twirling with Arianne and laughing helplessly as if she were thirty years younger.

She was safe. She was loved. And for all that had ever happened and would ever happen, she was happy.

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think that in a universe without the need for a potential political marriage, Oberyn and Ellaria would have gotten married, if not a long time ago, at least when they knew they weren't going to have any more children and so none of them would ever be on an unequal footing with the others. This isn't really my usual style, but I thought I'd give it a try. I really wanted some House Martell fluff. Leave me a comment, if you have time?


End file.
